


Acciaccatura

by thirteenthmurder



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteenthmurder/pseuds/thirteenthmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for my Soul Eater one-shots. Recent: Gypsy  -  Calling her gypsy was a mistake. And Soul learns the price of his words</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> Acciaccatura: grace note, an embellishing note usually written in smaller size.

From the corner of your eye you see a figure resting in the trees. Their red eyes search your face for a moment before disappearing into the trees and there is no mistaking it.

It’s him. You can tell, even if his hair is hidden under a thick coat of mud and moss.

You met him when you were thirteen. His fingernails still had dirt under them as he played for you. ‘This is who I am’ he tells you with a tired voice. When you hold out your hand, you know.

Staring out the window you watch for movement in the forest. You moved away from Death City, the place you were born, for him. It’s greener here and the summers are too cold for you but leaving his side was never an option. Not since he took your hand in that dark music room.

With a mug in your hand, you settle down in the armchair overlooking the woods. You know that later on he will return to you, and you will lean against the bath as you scrub mud from his hair. You will wait for him to rest between your legs as you untangle the flowers from his hair and press them between the pages of your favourite books.

You will laugh quietly, knowing that Black Star will be left doing the same to Tsubaki and he will smile every time you bring this up, as if you haven’t told that same joke for the past four years.

Your hand will be on his back, or his arm, as you guide him to his room and close the door. You will kiss his forehead when you think he is asleep.

And then you are left with some free time before the sun comes up. You will call Black Star to see if Tsu is alright and then message Kid in hopes Patti didn’t do anything crazy back home. You will make lists of what you want sent to you and box gifts for your papa. And you will always call Blaire and ask her to give him a hug for her.

As the sun begins to rise, you will dress for bed and brush your teeth. You will walk to your room in the dark and slip into your bed.

You will pretend you cannot feel him slip in beside you and press his lips to your temple.

Soul has his rituals, re-connecting himself with the earth. He and Tsu will braid each other’s hair, entangling flowers as they go. They will paint each other’s faces with mud and disappear into the woods. They have their rituals.

And you have yours.


	2. Anomaly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A head of snow, eyes like wine, and a mouthful of razors. He is a genetic anomaly and yet here he is, with your fingers in his mouth. The100AU Drabble

You touch his teeth in fascination. They are sharp under your thumb and you feel them bite into the calloused skin. His red eyes watch you as you explore him like a puzzle.

A head of snow, eyes like wine, and a mouthful of razors.

He sits there, as if you didn't have your hand in his mouth and it occurs to you that he isn't a puzzle – despite his genetic anomaly – and you should probably be respecting his personal space.

And you want to. You do, but the stories your mother told you keep you rooted in place.

You remember stories of Dracula, Frankenstein. Of Greek and Roman gods warring with creatures forged from the pits of hell, made of fire and fury.

He's a grounder.

He's killed your people.

He is what keeps you up at night, cowering from the dark.

But it's not his fault; it's not his people's fault. If you boiled it down to blame you could send it all back to the man who pressed the shiny red button in the first place. Earth, Self-destruct in 3, 2, 1…

And maybe you can't blame him.

Because mama cracked the code, didn't she?

She found out just how survivable space was for them and like Icarus she spoke a little too loudly and is now flying too close to the sun. Caught like a meteor and there's no wax left to save her.

Because air is a hot commodity in space. And wax isn't the best suit to use when you're being sucked out an air lock.

You can't blame him. Because you were waiting to die.

Treason is a fine thing to be locked in solitary for. You could hear the ticking, years of minutes moving by as the heartbeat of the Ark grew weaker.

At least you had a chance of floating by Mama when the hand struck 18.

But you are here, the hand stuck on 17 and you're holding your breath. All 70 of you are holding that breath.

You are here and you are alive. You are here with your fingers in your enemy's mouth as he watches you in silence.

You don't seem to mind it when he captures you.

\--

You're a healer. That's what you do.

You followed your Mama's methodical training and you have stitched so many children back together now that it no longer hurts when they scream.

Anaesthetic is a myth down here, and you think that maybe that's why this happened so easily.

Because here you are, with a river of blood coursing between your hands. You can taste ash in your mouth and you realise just how alone you are.

You have killed so many just to survive and when he finds you, you wonder if your life is worth this carnage.

You wonder if he will tally your kills down your chest, one scar at a time, and reach your hip before you can turn 18.

This, you do not say to him, but he sees it anyway. And he kisses those phantom lines away.

\--

When he teaches you his people's language you remember him telling you that you are worth more than a million stars. You are a supernova of contrast, you are a warrior of the sky and your wings won't melt when you collide with the sun.

Because although you have a tally from your shoulder to your hip, you have a thousand sunspots written across your face and your chest – they mark the lives you have saved.

And after he tells you these things he looks at you.

So in return you teach him your tongue, your lips and your hands. Letting his teeth claim you.

With your bodies entangled, he whispers to you. In the words of the sky people, he tells you that your particular green is an anomaly too– as he hails you as his queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I hope this makes sense, and yeah i sorta combined the Octavia/Lincoln!Arc with Clarke's story line but i figured it suited the story line better. I super hope you like it.


	3. Gypsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calling her gypsy was a mistake. And Soul learns the price of his words

She spits in his face and tries her best to imitate a dragon, wishing that her breath would flay him and his words. Every crystal in the store ignites with her anger and the walls quiver in fear as she roars.

He hears her loud and clear. He can see the golden shackle around her neck grow visible and hear the cries of men pushing oars through the sea. She is a raging inferno soldered from years of persecution and he can see the fire singeing her clothes. Her tattoos dance across her body, thirsting for blood.

"I AM ROMANI", He can feel the floors shake beneath him, as if hell itself will swallow him whole, "I AM NOT A ROMANTICISED THIEF! TO HELL WITH YOU ALL"

He can feel the trembling grow stronger more so, and just as he thinks the shop will fall to pieces the world rights itself and she has stomped out the door.

All the windows were shattered.

\--

Now he knows the price of the word Gypsy. It costs the gold her people were bought for. It costs the blood of her family and the heat of people's stares. He has felt her wrath and he will never make the mistake again.

Because her hair is spun from the gold the slavers lost at sea. Because her eyes are from the forests they burned, roots hidden patiently and ready to ensnare those foolish enough to wander close. Her will was made from the nails that drove Christ's flesh into the splintered crucifix. And her courage is a snarling beast trapped in a small cage.

She is forged from hellfire and no man can withstand her flames.


End file.
